


Final Meal

by CaptainStormChaser



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim—Dawnguard
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Coitus Interruptus, Consent Issues, Dawnguard, Evisceration, F/M, POV Original Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex, Vampires, Very thin justification for sex, battlefield sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22336021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainStormChaser/pseuds/CaptainStormChaser
Summary: A bosmer finds vampires where she’d been looking for wolves.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Male Character(s), Female bosmer/male nord vampire
Kudos: 29





	Final Meal

He was a Nord; wearing little above his waist but blood-cum-war paint. He was red of hair, jaw and forehead both wide. His hands held the bounty letter he’d taken from her pockets, reading it over before tossing it into one of the braziers lighting the room.

“Wolf extermination,” he muttered, shaking his head. “There’s no fucking wolves here anymore, elf. You’re in over your head.”

Indeed, it appeared she was. Lass was near trembling, but was held firm by the threat of the vampire’s thrall at her back, hands on her shoulders. Her bow was decent quality, likely scavenged from the corpse of an Imperial soldier. There were plenty these days. She wore fur armor, easily made and warm against Skyrim’s biting cold.

“Please,” she ground out. “I won’t come back, I won’t tell anyone you’re here, I just want,”

“Oh, I know what you want.” He answered shortly. “I could smell it the second you walked in here.”

The bosmer woman went completely still, hot embarrassed blush shooting across her skin. At the mention, she tensed her thighs, squeezing them together while her captor smirked at her knowingly. Arousal had been curling in her gut for the past hour, though it was up for debate if it was from a battle haze rush of adrenaline or actual lust. It wasn’t unheard of, the vampire knew. Many of Harkon’s cattle were there by choice, offering themselves to a fog of sensation.

“I’m going to kill you, whatever you promise.” He assured her. “But…” He considered her small form, arms thin and hands free of hard callus. He didn’t normally play with his food. But. The vampire waved a hand, and the thrall stepped away from her. “You want that itch scratched, there’s no shame in it.”

She flinched as though struck, eyes quickly averting.

The vampire released all his breath. “You can say no. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“And if I said yes?” Her voice was low, unintentionally seductive.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, sharp fangs catching the light. “I haven’t had complaints.”

The next twenty minutes was a wash of sensation.

He shoved her breast band and small clothes down and his hand up her legs. Warm, soft, wet. She arched into his touch, gasping out in pleasure. A great groan left him, and he pushed her up against the ancient stonework, bending her over a primeval table.

One arm was wrapped around her waist, the other he used to guide his cock into her from behind. Gods, it felt incredible. Her velvet folds parted for him, a perfect searing sheath. Quietly at first, then growing in fervor, rough moans were pulled from her throat and mingled with the rhythmic slap of his sack against her with each solid thrust.

He gripped one of her thighs, hiking it up for a better angle, and they both groaned. Her hand flew back, tangling in his hair and pulling at it.

He turned his face into her wrist, feeling the racing pulse beneath her skin. He’d drain her afterwards, he decided. Drink her properly while she was coming down from the high of sex instead of using magic to draw it out. His teeth grazed her skin and she shivered.

His arm around her tightened, pulling her upright and taking away her power to push back against him.

“Is this what you needed, sweetheart?” He husked in her ear, dragging the pace out incredibly slow. “Vampire cock, filling you up?”

“Yes,” she answered, squirming for friction. “Please, more,”

He laughed, holding her by the tits as he resumed the previous pace. She’d make a decent thrall, he mused, if he hadn’t already made up his mind. Fucking thralls was distasteful, regardless. Not yet mindless bodies, still alive. Decent servants, but never lovers.

He sighed internally. His orders were clear: kill or enthrall any mortal who came close to the cave. Changing her was out the question, and she was only a momentary distraction anyways. Best to enjoy it.

She squirmed as he fucked her harder, faster, pounding into her with strength rare among mortal men. Then all at once, she cried out in ecstasy, fingernails scraping down his back, another hand pawing aimlessly near his waist.

He was nearly there himself, so damn close,

It didn’t occur to him to cry out, stunned by what she’d done.

Her hands had a fine tremor to them, grasping the hilt of a dagger he recognized from his own belt. Dumbstruck, he met her eyes.

She was defiant, eyes like flint. Tears rimmed her lashes but there was no telling if they’d been stirred by pleasure or the weight of being in a position where survival meant gutting a man still inside her.

And gut him she did. The pilfered blade ran the breadth of his abdomen, blood and sliced viscera spilling over where they were still joined.

She shoved him away with surprising strength, his wound too grievous for even supernatural fortitude to handle as he fell to his knees.

His thrall, who’d been waiting patiently for orders, raised a great axe and summarily perished from the very same dagger, thrown and buried between blank eyes.

This was no common mercenary, he reflected as she dressed herself once more, retrieving her own cast aside weapons. His strength failed him, and he collapsed onto one side on the dusty stone floor.

The elf paid him little mind, the trepidation and bashfulness from before replaced with cool professionalism. He managed a hoarse bark of a laugh, tasting of blood and bile in his mouth. He’d offered her a final meal and she’d poisoned his cup, now easily ambling down to the altar while his eyes slipped closed for the last time.

If this barrow held what they thought it did, Harkon had one hell of a storm headed his way.


End file.
